


Moving to Lose

by riftgift



Category: Naruto
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Character Study, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto)-centric, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, PWP: pain without plot, or perhaps projection without plot. shh, root sucks you guys, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riftgift/pseuds/riftgift
Summary: The thing is: while Root culls and beats many things out of its operatives—dreams, a need for praise, feelings, love, a self outside of what's called for—fear is the first. Fear is always the first; this is a fact of life. Sai takes a silent, shaky breath. All that exists is the mission.But then, he thinks, what of the rest?
Relationships: Dai-nana-han | Team 7 & Sai, Sai & Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Moving to Lose

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warnings:** implied noncon/dubcon- not graphic or detailed at all, but if this is something you're very sensitive to, I'd suggest reading elsewhere. Also includes Root-typical abuse and described panic + dissociation/depersonalization.
> 
> If you'd like more detailed discussion of the way the above is handled, check out the end notes. If not, enjoy!

_if you want it, girl, go and get It_  
_even if the pain is undeniable_  
_moving to lose is making a move_  
_so, I packed my bags and bought a ticket out_

-

Sai does not expect to be liked. He doesn’t care much for things such as approval; Root has long since culled the need for praise, for belonging. You do not need to belong in an organization like Root, nor do you belong _to_ Root, because there is nothing left of you to belong. You _are_ Root.

This is perhaps why he doesn’t make the effort to gain his teammates’ favor. It was not in the mission parameters. Danzou had given him specific and very strict orders to meet with Orochimaru and relay Root’s message and kill the traitor, not to befriend the infamous and rather in-shambles Team 7. There was no question of disobedience. There is not such a thing in Root: the idea of resistance was burnt out almost immediately upon induction. If you are Root, you move only when instructed, as instructed. So, Sai does not attempt acquaintanceship, which appears to suit his companions just fine. 

He does not understand the girl or the jinchuuriki’s relationships with Uchiha Sasuke. The girl seems to hold a guilt or perhaps sense of betrayal, which points to past romantic pursuit, something Sai doubts she has fully let go of. The fox is far harder to begin to comprehend. He has a blinding love for the missing nin, a very violent sort of obsession that is everything Root seeks to destroy, weak and raging at best and downright suicidal at worst. When the girl, Sakura, punches Sai, he is only hurt on the physical level, albeit slightly impressed. It does not make sense that she would defend the Uchiha. Though, as Sai is learning, Uchiha Sasuke frequently leads to irrationality. 

-

Kinoe—though he is Yamato or Tenzou, now—is a surprise. Sai was far too green to know Kinoe intimately when he was active, but Root always recognizes its own. His hair is shorter than Sai recalls, no longer androgynous and flowing, but the same color of slightly ashen bark, and his face is undoubtedly the same. Tenzou is clearly aware that Sai recognizes him. Sai supposes he has his own mission, as well, one which does not care whether Root is on his team, so neither of them speak a word of their understanding. 

Kinoe is deemed a failure by Danzou. Sai agrees. But Tenzou, he thinks, is not a failure. Obviously not as a shinobi; even Danzou would admit that. He has become more than comfortable with the mokuton and is far past proficient in every type of combat, as any Root operative would be, and although awkward he is a skilled captain. However, this is not where Kinoe had failed. Kinoe had left for an ANBU mask and a white-haired promise. There were no promises in Root.

Tenzou is not a failure because he has kept both the ANBU mask and the promise. Though Sai does not admire cowardice and the betrayal of Root, he admires loyalty, which Tenzou has in spades. He reminds him of Shin, which is something Sai tries not to think about. He reminds him of himself as well, though Sai knows this is just because they both grew up in Root, not because they share many other similarities. He sees him as many things: a reflection, a stand-in much like himself, a threat, a muse, a companion. But he does not see him as a failure. 

If he were not just one of Danzou’s many limbs, Sai would ask Tenzou if he sees his mokuton as art, if he feels the same inspiration when using it as Sai does with his ink, if he finds it beautiful in the same way. Tenzou isn't beautiful himself, but he’s captivating to look at, certainly. His appearance suits him perfectly. His cheekbones are worn and violent and his eyes are blank but anticipatory, and his hands are large, capable. Sai wants to draw him. But Sai is Root, and Root does not want for these things.

-

After the disaster that is the Tenchi Bridge mission, as the remnants and replacements of Team 7 return home, something changes. Sai lingers on the moment when Sakura and Naruto had come to stop him from hurting Sasuke, of how the looks on their faces plagued him with something he couldn’t understand. Something like the ghost of a whole body ache, akin to the recovery from one of the many poisons he has built immunity to; a vague sense of nausea and a dewy inward anger. Sai thinks it’s guilt. He does not feel guilty, because he is Root, but he thinks guilty, and he doesn’t know why. 

-

When they arrive back in Konoha and hand in their reports, there are no kindnesses exchanged between them. Sakura gives him a reproachful nod and Naruto does not even spare him a glance. It’s not out of malevolence, simply a true apathy. Sai does not expect any different. Tenzou gives his shoulder a slightly awkward squeeze, and blinks in a way Sai has come to understand means _be careful_. He knows where Sai is going: back to Danzou, back to Root. He does not have a need for anywhere else, after all. 

When Sai asks, Danzou does not seem surprised that he wants to stay with the patchwork chaos of Team 7. This is an opportunity for Root to monitor the jinchuuriki and by extension Uchiha Sasuke’s movements, and Sai’s… tense but newly existing familiarity with them allows for easy observation. He has no plans to _not_ fulfil this objective, but he would be lying if he said it was only for Danzou. However, it is not for himself. He is not a self outside of Root, but his strange desire to stay on the team might be for the person he was before Root, if that soft and frightened child he once belonged to wasn’t long dead. 

“You understand your objective?” Danzou asks. He’s sitting at his desk, a great wooden beast of a thing, and the light in the room is very, very dim despite it being early evening. The bandages around his right eye seem nearly reflective in contrast.

“I do, sir,” Sai replies. 

“You must report to me immediately after every mission.” There is a pause when Danzou takes a sip of what is presumably tea, and continues. “Your loyalty is to Root, and not the Nine-tails.”

“My loyalty is to Root only.” While Sai does not question the statement, he has begun to wonder if it really is the same thing as loyalty to Konoha: Naruto claims his loyalty is to Konoha as well, but if Root holds the same perspective, why do their intentions clash? One must be a falsehood, he suddenly realizes. “Sir.”

Danzou nods, pleased at this. He sets his mug down onto a marble coaster. “Good. Come here.”

Sai does. Danzou has turned his chair parallel to his hulking desk, and Sai stands in front of it, facing him, though his eyes are still to the floor. 

“Failure will not be tolerated.” 

“Understood, sir,” Sai says, and Danzou makes a gesture he’s very familiar with. _All that exists is the mission_ , he repeats to himself, and goes to his knees.

-

Team Kakashi-Yamato’s next few missions settle into as much routine as shinobi are capable of. Naruto does something self-sacrificial and overwhelmingly stupid, which four times out of five happens to work. Sakura yells at him but goes with it. Sai follows them both with duty-bound determination, and has their backs during altercations, but he is still very much an outsider. Tenzou gives him glances that would be pity if he were capable of such a thing and Sai were capable of receiving it—for now, though, they remain as slightly sad looks of acknowledgment. 

Logically, the team should be a failure. Sai has spent hours and days studying tactics, team composition, strategy: there must be balance and precision. Mutual understanding. While he has never been part of one before, Sai doubts that this—a crying and shattered picture on a dusty shelf, an open wound clotting with regret— is what a team is supposed to be. They should not succeed. Sakura is needlessly violent and overly sensitive, though skilled enough; Naruto is a village’s fear and hatred bound reckless with raging stupidity and screaming determination; Tenzou is a childhood threat turned strange muse, a genetic impossibility and mockery of a leader, and Sai… Sai is an idea, a kunai in the hand of Root stained ink-black and clueless.

Yet it works. Somehow, they fulfill missions with remarkable speed and success, even if outside of combat they are the opposite of unified. Sai is still the replacement, but he’s finding the sense of safety that a team brings to be a very intriguing thing. Naruto and Sakura do not care for him, but they tolerate him. They both pretend not to stare at his sketchbook when he draws, and he’s come to subconsciously angle it towards them, letting them observe as he lays down lines and swirls of inks and charcoals and pastels, giving them the only representation of himself that he knows. 

-

It’s late. They’re in a forest a few miles outside of a small civilian village, bedrolls pushed to the walls of the central room in today’s mokuton-sprung house, all nearly as far apart as is possible. Naruto and Sakura have already taken their watch shifts—Naruto clamors for first, then Sakura switches in with the background noise of his snores to keep her alert—and it’s Tenzou’s turn, though Sai doubts he’s slept at all. 

It’s not like Sai has either, though. Root does not sleep. If the mission permits, he steals short hours spaced over days, just the bare minimum required for mental and physical function, but no more, nothing like Naruto’s recklessly restless slumber or Sakura’s clinically deep rest. They both see it as a luxury, a period of relaxation, but even they’re able to be roused at the slightest sound. A shinobi cannot be a heavy sleeper; this is a fact of life. A millisecond of delay between sleep and wakefulness means a kunai embedded in ribs, a flurry of senbon buried in arteries. 

It’s simply better if Sai doesn’t sleep more than needed. He has no reason to—his body is just another part of the mission. His body is the kunai’s blade. There’s no benefit in sleep, just more risk, more time lost to unawareness. Oddly, it seems to worry Naruto, if Naruto had such feelings towards him.

(He had confronted Sai about it one night over dinner: “You don’t sleep a lot. It’s weird. Creepy. What, scared of getting nightmares or something, huh, dattebayo?”

“I do not understand,” Sai had said, looking up from the remains of his meal with utter confusion. Nightmares are a luxury for those with something left to fear. Root took away the ability to dream, anyways, fearing the corruption of fantasy feeding insubordination or emotion, so Sai’s nights are nothing but darkness, if he rests at all. “I sleep enough to sustain my body’s needs. It does not impact my abilities in combat. What about that bothers you?”

Naruto made the scrunched-up face he always does when he can’t find the words to transmit his thoughts to coherent speech—the freckles spraying over his nose squished together and his eyes narrowed. He was still chewing. There were bits of fish stuck between his teeth. It was very gross, and Sai wanted very badly to draw him. “Hmph,” he said. “I dunno. Whatever. I don’t care ‘s long as you can fight.”

“My skill as a shinobi is not compromised,” Sai had replied. “I am aware of my own needs and how to meet them.”)

Sleepless and alone, face up on his bedroll, recalling that odd interaction, Sai wonders: would Naruto ask Sasuke if he slept enough? He concludes that he would, though he wouldn’t settle for the answer Sai gave. He’d push, and push, and offer to take an extra watch shift if it meant Sasuke could rest for an hour more, would hurt himself hundreds of times over just to bear a fraction of his burden. But not for Sai.

Sai’s not offended. Even if Naruto thought of him as more than a temporary irritation, he could never come close to an emotional replacement for Sasuke. He knew he wouldn’t be liked, but he had assumed that he would at least come to understand what Naruto’s motivations and blind hope were founded on, to report to Danzou if not just for his own understanding. There is nothing he can come up with that explains it. Naruto and Sasuke have a bond that will tear the world apart; this is a fact of life. 

The world, for now, still stands. Moonlight filters in silver slivers through the window of the mokuton structure and soaks the room in weakly pale light. The boy and the jinchuuriki within sleep, dreaming no doubt of Sasuke. In her peace, Sakura looks less like a weapon and more like a girl. Tenzou, unblinking and motionless in his alertness, sits parallel to the door with his back to the wall. He makes eye contact with Sai in the dark, another tense moment of companionship.

Silently, so as to not disturb his slumbering teammates, Sai makes a decision; he peels himself to his feet and gently pads towards him, grabbing his sketchbook and a stick of charcoal on the way. Tenzou does not react. His eyes, catlike and true to his name, appear luminous in the moon-dark gloom. The only sign of acknowledgement he gives is a slight shift in the angle of his body, a few millimeters of change that Sai takes for acceptance. 

Sai sits so that his body is a mirror of Tenzou’s, legs crossed and head bent, the only difference being the direction he’s facing and the sketchbook cradled in his lap. He distantly considers that he’s probably sitting too close—but neither of them remark, either out of respect or a lack of social knowledge. This is their kinship. 

No one has understood Sai since Shin, but not just out of choice. Root is not a place for understanding, and no one had desired to. He’s not like Sasuke, who considers himself too broken for the love Naruto is so desperate to bleed into him, nor is he like Kakashi, who considers himself the breaker, a sharpened edge of danger with no hope for non-destructive closeness. No, Sai can’t empathize with either of them. Maybe he would consider himself broken, if there was something left to break, something left to break it. 

Tenzou, though, comes the closest to it. Sai has been forced to reconsider his earlier notion that Root was their only connection. They are both weapons of a greater hand, both people only in name and duty, both dry of emotion or the skill to process it. They are both artists, even if Tenzou doesn’t see himself as one. Maybe this similarity is why Sai finds him so captivating. Maybe not, but captivating he is—he’s filled pages of his sketchbook with renderings of him already, and is beginning another, here in the dim loneliness of night slipping into early morning.

There is no sound in the room save for the occasional sniffle from Naruto and the steady scritching of charcoal on paper, strokes tamed into purposefully light glances, mere suggestions of lines to avoid rousing the others. Neither of them speak. Tenzou has kept his pose the same, for ease of Sai’s drawing, but at some point Sai shifted so that his legs are now tucked in front of him with his feet bearing the weight of his body. One knee is pressed to the wall, and his sketchbook is splayed on the other thigh, spine a gentle sloping curve.

Sai pauses his sketching to look up, finding Tenzou’s gaze turned on him, asking. Cocking his head as if to inquire more, Sai puts the charcoal down. “Senpai?” 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Tenzou says, voice barely an exhale in volume. His expression is the same as ever; a blank strength as strange and unsettling as the mokuton he wields. There’s something to be said for the way he’s everything Sai was warned never to become, only to be the only thing that makes sense to him now. 

Sai knows he’s slipping from Root’s grip. It should feel like a freedom, but it feels instead like a kunai to the chest. He also knows, objectively, that Danzou is bad, that Danzou is bad specifically to him, but whatever small scrap of self he had managed to clasp child-sized hands around and hold to for these years is firmly embedded in Root, and to let go of that is not just to lose the worst of Root, but the only thing he has defined himself by for all of his life. He shouldn’t be scared. He shouldn’t have any emotions, but most of all, he should not, and cannot, be scared.

The thing is: while Root beats and stamps many things out of its operatives—dreams, a need for praise, feelings, love, a self outside of the mission—fear is the first. Fear is always the first; this is a fact of life. Sai takes a silent, shaky breath. _All that exists is the mission_. But then, he thinks, what of the rest?

Tenzou seems to catch the quiet distress before it can spiral further, and places his hand at the juncture of Sai’s neck and shoulder blade, curving his palm up to pinch his calloused thumb and index finger at the pressure points a few inches under the base of his skull. Sai knows what he’s doing—they were given the same training, after all—but instead of fighting as he’s been taught, he lets Tenzou dig his fingers in, blocking his chakra pathways and rendering him boneless.

Though he’s aware of what direct force on these points does, no one’s used it on him before, and part of the move’s effectiveness comes from the surprise that ensues. It’s not meant to paralyze or knock out an opponent, just quickly dispel all tension from their body; useful for hostages or children. Sai’s not sure which one he is. He doesn’t feel like either, but he feels _something_ , and that in itself is gut-punchingly wrenching, shattering enough that he can’t do anything but give into the weight of the hand at his neck. 

His descent isn’t a fall, though it’s not an intentional movement, either, more of a slow slip forward. The sketchbook lies ignored on the ground with the charcoal stub unharmed next to it. Tenzou remains unreactive and silent—the only noise is the rustle of his flak jacket as Sai relaxes limp in his hold. He’s still cross-legged but his back is against the wall, and the hand not pinching Sai’s neck has come to brace his lower back in a gesture of strange intimacy. 

Sai, once he’s settled with his knees curled under him in Tenzou’s lap and head tucked into his shoulder, doesn’t move at all but to shake very slightly. Despite the trembling, his breath is hushed and even, his control and training not breaking. He does not cry. He is still Root, or a product of it, at the least. He may be slipping away from the cold anonymity and apathy granted to him by the emotion and identity he’s tithed to Danzou—to Konoha—for years, but he does not cry.

Moonlight ebbs like waves. Watch duty was meant to shift perhaps an hour ago, but neither of them makes to move. The contact is the most he’s had since Shin—save for missions or for duty—and it’s startling how much Sai needs it, craves it. It doesn’t feel like duty. It feels instead like being carved open and looked at, like a Yamanaka splitting his brain and probing, but without the invasion or discomfort; instead blanketed with something warmer and softer, though no less violent. He wants with foreign intensity to stay here curled and compacted against Tenzou’s skin.

“Sai,” Tenzou says after an indeterminate epoch of nothing but holding Sai steady. By nature of their position and his lowered volume, his words leak directly into Sai’s ear. He doesn’t ask if he’s okay. Even if he did, Sai thinks, he wouldn’t be able to answer. The hand on his spine presses into the ridge made by his second vertebrae like Tenzou knows he needs the pressure. “Root doesn’t have all of you. Trust me.”

If it were anyone else Sai would twist his face into a mimicry of laughter, because no one aside from Root themselves knows what it’s like. But it’s not anyone else. This is the closest thing to a survivor Root’ll ever have, the closest thing to an escape Sai has ever seen, and if Kinoe-Yamato-Tenzou manages to be something other than what Danzou lathed him into, then there’s hope for Sai yet.

 _All that exists is the mission_ , yet he’s being held by the product of a promise made years ago. This, Sai knows, is real. He settles deeper into Tenzou’s chest, shirt gone damp where he’s been breathing wetly into it.

Neither says anything else until night begins to shudder into pre-dawn pale. Sai knows he’ll be cramped from curling in the same position for hours, but he’s fought through worse, and he likes the reminder, the thumbprint ache of existence outside of Root. Tenzou lets him go without a word. Unspooling from his lap and drawing himself silently to his feet, Sai thinks there’s something he should say, but he doesn’t know of it or care to. He packs his bedroll and puts away his sketchbook. Naruto and Sakura begin to reawaken, oblivious to his nighttime revelations—for once, it bothers him, that they don’t spare him any acknowledgment. He’ll get used to it, he reasons. Sai has always had a talent for becoming what’s needed.

After the team’s packed and as he moves to the door of the house and out into the first gasps of sunlight, he’s hit with the warmth, the hurt, the peace, and finally lets himself feel it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not meant to be accurately representative of the healing process. Danzou is a vile creep. Neither Sai nor Tenzou is capable of talking about feelings, so no trauma is actually talked about or "resolved". If you're unsure of what the relationship between Sai and Tenzou is, great! I was too while writing this and still am, oops? You can read it as pre-slash or parental or whatever you want, really. I just think they're interesting.  
> A note about canon- this fic was primarily for me. Due to that, I just said fuck it to checking canon and wrote what I remember mixed with what I want to remember, but it's not intentionally canon divergent. Sorry, Kishimoto. 
> 
> Title and lyrics are from Wool in the Wash by Crying, a long-time favorite band of mine. Check them out, I love their stuff. On the topic of titles- this fic went through a few of them! Highlights include:  
> \- sai voice: I Do Not see it. I am looking away  
> \- [drops sketchbook and years of trauma spill out] Oh No  
> \- The inherent intimacy of drawing someone while everyone else is asleep  
> \- campaigning for ninja therapy (but it's propaganda in fic form)
> 
> If you've read this far, thanks! Since none of my fandom friends are into Naruto and I don't have a beta (the position is very open...), all grammatical errors are my own.


End file.
